Dear Mum,
You’ve just asked me when I
am going to write a “nice blog about you”. That’s fair. I suppose it is about
time isn’t it? Lately things have been up and down between us, so I suppose now
is the time to write this. Not only write something, but also explore in the
best way I am able – words – this fragile relationship of a bond that began in
the womb, here in Wellington, 22 years ago.
 |
| Breaker Bay, 1991 |
“Congratulations” is commonly
said to people that decide to get engaged to be married. We both think this is
a little strange don’t we? Congratulating someone for deciding to be the
lifelong partner of another when it’s such a personal decision. However, I do
believe “congratulations” is a fitting word for successfully raising two children
on your own, and this is most certainly a great, if not the greatest,
achievement in life. It overwhelms me sometimes to think of this journey we
have been on together since we last lived in Wellington in that little dark
flat by the crashing, cold waves of Breaker bay.
You did everything for us. Gave
everything for us. Sure, you didn’t hug us much, but you showed us the joy of a
stormy day at the beach, the thrill of biking down a long country road, the
warmth of the fire of a hut on the mountain as a storm rages outside, and always,
always the value of health. You provided and fostered a love for delicious healthy
food and relishing the outdoors, and you consistently led by example. We were
always the ‘healthy’ ones of all our mates – there was no other way; it made
sense. We treated our bodies and minds with the respect you taught us they
deserved.
And now you have to sit in
your car and watch a family of young children saunter across the road in front
of you with bright blue sugary, caffeinated drinks, and think “I would never
give that to my kids”…and yet your kid has cancer. “Unexplained” cancer. It’s
not fair, is it?
It must be so much harder
for you than it is for me. You told me at that restaurant in Seattle with a
tear in your eye (yes, one!) that you would take it from me upon yourself in an
instant. That you did everything you could to protect us and it didn’t work. Of
course, I scoffed at that, saying that it’s my challenge and I can do this,
I’ll take it on for myself thank you very much…
… But you know, having the
cancer is the easy part. The hard part is having to watch your daughter; the
daughter that you fed from your breast, took for a first haircut, and watched
almost drown with horror as you sat bleeding on a jagged rock thinking only of
her, sit in a cancer day ward smile to cover the grimace as the needle pierces
her hand. The hardest part is to know that all you did and gave wasn’t quite enough to protect your precious
daughter. It’s to hear her tell you when you wake that she was up in the night
vomiting alone, refusing to tell anyone, and know that her staunchness comes
from you. It’s easy for me, in a way. I just have to go for the ride. The only
guilt I must battle is the one of the burden I now put upon those I love.
I can’t imagine how
difficult it must be for you to come to understand that there is another person
in the world (apart from dad) that loves me as much as you do. How could that
be? You are the one who raised me; you are the one who has been there the whole
time! But mum, at some point I hope and plead that you will come to appreciate
the family I have now chosen.
James is my inspiration, my
partner and buddy in everything. He is the one that makes me smile and laugh
every evening. He is the one I dream with and make plans with, and it is a
future with him that I am living for. His dedication to me is overwhelming and
his love for me carries me through. He lifts me up when I need it, and vice
versa. You must understand this. I admire and am inspired by his goodness, his
ability to take on challenges and his drive to succeed while helping others. I
know you see your differences, which of course there are, but it breaks my
heart that you are not able to see and be excited for the utter joy and love we
have. You both want the best for me and it’s quite obvious, but sometimes it’s
okay for people to have different views of what is best. Aside from having a
different, more scientific educational background, love also drives him and he
also only wants the best for me. I am privileged to call James my family and I
think you should be too.
We will always have a
special bond, and you will always understand me in ways that no one else does –
for this is the bond of a mother and daughter. It won’t and can’t come under jeopardy,
as it is based on not only a lifetime of formative experience but also an
actual, physical bond that nothing can ever take away. I’m delighted for you
that you have found a man that compliments you perfectly and is endearingly
supportive, fun and kind. It matters so much to me that you are happy, so much.
I can’t help but care and it’s always been that way with us, hasn’t it? Even
when I would sit in the bathroom with you and chat with you about how your
boyfriend at the time wasn’t great for you, I cared. When I would come up for
breakfast in the morning and share with you what I had learnt from my various
philosophy books the night before, I cared. Please, don’t forget that. Please,
let us remember that each other’s happiness is paramount and although your
little girl has grown up and gone in search of her own happiness, she will
always be your girl. No matter if she goes off into the world and loves and is
loved deeply by another, she will always be able to read your facial
expressions and understand why you get the giggles. She will always be beside
you sharing private jokes and common understanding, because that is what we
have.
